


Forwarding Address

by manic_intent



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Alpha!Nate, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omegaverse, That AU where Nate runs into Wade much earlier, omega!Wade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29777352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: Things in the bar had gotten somewhat more polite after Wade had shot up a few people and collected some fingers, but he still got the occasional obnoxious alpha all up in his grill now and then. Like this goddamned kid.Dopinder had once suggested that Wade count to ten whenever he got ticked off, but Wade already had a preferred coping mechanism. He’d make sure whoever it was could see that he was copiously armed. If the shithead then continued to do shithead things, then the knives would come out. Right now, Kid Alpha was sitting at Wade’s favourite table, in Wade’s favourite chair, ignoring Dopinder’s increasingly frantic attempts to shift him as Wade stalked over.“I’ll handle this,” Wade said as he closed in.
Relationships: Nathan Summers/Wade Wilson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 198





	Forwarding Address

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aokanio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aokanio/gifts).



> Prompt by Aokanio, who asked for pre-canon Deadpool 2: Younger Nate meeting current Wade, Omegaverse, compatible mates, Alpha!Nate, Omega!Wade. 
> 
> Vanessa is kind of key to Wade’s origin story in the film, but I’d personally rather not write in a het relationship, so this would be an AU where they never got together. Also, whenever I read the comics wiki to refresh my memory of the Askani storyline, I’m always like ??? what sort of fresh mushrooms were the writers on, so that’d be an AU as well. In this AU, Dopinder runs Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children. Would prefer not to think of That Other Guy anymore.

“You don’t approve,” Nate said as Graymalkin lit up. The prototype timeship was the size of a small hovercraft, its silver flanks stitched with ribs of yellow light, crouched low over the ground on multiple sharp-tipped feet. 

“You’ve long demonstrated that my approval no longer matters.” Mother Askani smiled as Nate glanced at her. “No need to scowl. It is as it is, and always has been. The young replace the old, and the old must gracefully cede the scene.” The leader of Clan Askani studied the technicians swarming over Graymalkin, her wrinkled mouth pursed. A century had streaked Mother Askani’s hair silver, turned her skin papery and translucent under her simple tunic and robe. 

Nate said nothing. Mother Askani was one of the few people who remained impenetrable to Nate; her thoughts locked away fast. When he had been a toddler, still growing into his powers, he used to scream and cry at the sight of her. It took years before Nate could learn the words to tell anyone why. With Mother Askani’s mind a ghost, her presence invisible, she’d felt to child-Nate as one of the walking dead. Never quite there. He’d been embarrassed to admit it. 

No more. The child who cried, the child who was afraid of the dead—that child was long gone. One could not see death every day for near-twenty years without being inured to horror. The Sentinels were only getting more and more powerful, anti-mutant policies growing more and more brutal. The end was coming, and if they could only test Graymalkin effectively, enough to build something better—perhaps they could also pinpoint the pain points in the past that would lead to this ugly future. 

Mother Askani had objected to Nate being the test pilot. They’d disagreed, and he prevailed—Nate had been born more stubborn. He’d been brought up to be the so-called messiah, after all, so why not he? _Your loss will break the movement_ , Mother Askani had said. _Then it’ll teach the others that your religion is false_ , Nate had bitten back. His words, hotly spoken, had torn open a rift between them that was ill-healing. 

“If you must go,” Mother Askani began as the lights along the flanks of Graymalkin turned from yellow to green. She faltered, frowning. 

“I will come back,” Nate said. He smiled unevenly at Mother Askani as he flexed his technovirus-riddled arm. “It’s the least risky for me. After all, I’m only returning to the Time I belong.”

“That Time period…” Mother Askani trailed off, her hand curling tight. “It is just as cruel as the present in many ways.” 

Nate laughed. “When have people not been cruel? It’s part of human nature. There's no changing any of that.” 

Mother Askani stared at him, unblinking. She was the first to look away. “Perhaps leaving on this trip is for the best,” she said, her tone growing flat. “You have so much more to learn.”

#

Wade never bought into the ‘not your usual omega’ kind of shit. That kind of talk was skeevy af—same as saying a girl was ‘not like other girls’. What are you implying about girls, huh? Or omegas? It’s the 21st Century, for fuck’s sake, Wade would complain to Dopinder at Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children. The bartender/owner would smile nervously and try to say something soothing each time, but fuck that. Fuck Dopinder for never stocking anything strong enough to get Wade comfortably drunk, and fuck him too for running a business that tended to attract a certain breed of meathead alpha.

Things in the bar had gotten somewhat more polite after Wade had shot up a few people and collected some fingers, but he still got the occasional obnoxious alpha all up in his grill now and then. Like this goddamned kid. 

Dopinder had once suggested that Wade count to ten whenever he got ticked off, but Wade already had a preferred coping mechanism. He’d make sure whoever it was could see that he was copiously armed. If the shithead then continued to do shithead things, then the knives would come out. Right now, Kid Alpha was sitting at Wade’s favourite table, in Wade’s favourite chair, ignoring Dopinder’s increasingly frantic attempts to shift him as Wade stalked over. 

“I’ll handle this,” Wade said as he closed in. 

Dopinder wilted. “Mister Wilson… could we maybe not destroy any furniture this time? It is tough to get insurance.” 

“No promises,” Wade said, making shooing gestures. Dopinder ducked behind the bar, hastily securing his best whisky. 

The young alpha gave Wade a slow once-over. No recognition on his face, which lowered Wade’s raised hackles very slightly. Maybe this was a real case of the kid not knowing who Wade was, even though the kid looked vaguely familiar. Somehow about the jaw, something about the eyes. Dark brown hair, long face—kind of cute in an unfinished way. Dressed in a long dark coat that fit badly over shoulders that were still filling out, gloves over long fingers. Kid was in that gangly stage where he was nearing the end of his growth spurt, maybe, somewhere in his early twenties. Huge-ass gun propped against the wall, silvery and futuristic to the point of looking fake. 

Huh. “We compensating for something here, kid?” Wade asked with a nod at the gun. Through Wade’s peripheral vision, he noticed the bikies seated near the jukebox sidling awkwardly toward the exit. 

Kid’s eyes flicked from Wade to the exit and back to Wade. “Compensating?” 

Was he messing with Wade or what? Surely everyone his age would know what Wade was talking about. Hell, sometimes Negasonic’s peppy girlfriend, Yukio, sent Wade things that _she_ called ‘memes’ and that Wade termed ‘Wade moving one step closer to the urn’. “For a small dick?” Wade said. 

The kid looked confused. “What would that have to do with anything?” 

“…Nevermind. Know what I mind, though? You being in my seat.” Wade folded his arms. 

Kid started to speak, paused, and looked more closely at Wade. “Do I know you…? No. That’s not possible. I feel like I do.” 

“If that’s a pickup line, it’s the worst one I’ve heard yet,” Wade said with a snort. “Seriously, you alphas. Is it tiring wanting to bang every omega you meet? Surely by now there’s an app for that.” 

The young alpha tensed up. Wade smirked under his mask, his feet shifting apart slightly for balance. The ‘cure’ that disfigured him forever had other side effects—with his body chems now so messed up, his pheromones didn’t calm alphas down like other omegas could, nor did he easily sense or get affected by alpha pheromones. Which meant that Wade’s set often had the opposite effect. Which _also_ meant getting into at least one fight every few days on the regular. Fine by Wade. It’d been about three days now since he’d gotten a workout. 

“My apologies,” the alpha said politely. “I didn’t know. This is my first time here.” He got off the seat and picked up his gun, preparing to move to another table. Didn’t smell pissed. Sounded genuine, too.

Feeling a little bit like he’d kicked a puppy, Wade waved him back down and hooked up another chair with his foot. “That so? S’alright then. Name’s Wade Wilson.”

“Nate,” Nate said. He briefly looked like he was going to say more but turned his gaze back up to the commission board. 

“If you want to pick up any of those, you just go to the counter and let Dopinder know. He’ll set you up with an account, deets like that.” How young was this kid anyway? “You even old enough to be in here?” 

That got him a slight glare. “What do you mean?” 

“You don’t look like you’re of a drinking age.” 

“There’s a drinking age?” 

Was the kid sassing him? No—it sounded like a genuine question. Weird. “So that I know, did you escape from the X-Mansion?” The Professor had Views about people messing with the X-kids. Which was fine by Wade, since Wade had many, many views about the Mansion. The hell was up with that place, anyway? It was like the boarding school from hell. Unqualified teachers, school trips with an extra helping of random violence, and the occasional Sentinel attack? It was Wade’s kind of place. Pity he was still only an Honorary X-person. 

“No? That doesn’t exi–” Nate cut himself off with a frown. “No.” 

“Overseas?” Nate had an American accent, though. “Escaped from a religious cult?” 

“Ah…” Nate flushed a little. “You could say that.” 

“Really?” Wade leaned forward. “I love cults.” He particularly enjoyed shooting his way through the murder ones. The more psychedelic, the better. “I was in this weird one once, think it was in Singapore, where the leader decided to turn everyone hot pink in the name of equality and world peace and self-interest. One of those. Great fun. Was yours like that?” 

Nate looked taken aback. “No, not really.” 

“Spoke in tongues? Polyamory? Orgies on Thursdays? No technology?” 

“Ah… nothing like that.”

“Pssh. One of the boring cults then.” Filled with increasing nascent guilt about having kicked a cult-bred puppy from a boring cult, Wade patted Nate on the shoulder. “All right, kid. Tell you what. Since you don’t know anything and all. Uncle Wade will take you under his wing.” 

Nate’s shoulder felt weirdly warm under Wade’s palm. Huh. Was the kid feverish or something? Didn’t look that way, though. Nate glanced at Wade’s slightly grubby glove, then up at Wade’s creased black and red mask. He blinked owlishly before tearing his gaze back to the jobs board. “I think I’d appreciate that? Yes. Thank you.” 

“Right. Let’s get you set up with an account.” 

“Aren’t you curious about why I might need the money?” 

What sort of question was that? “Everybody needs money,” Wade said with a shrug. “Don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

Nate started to say something and closed his mouth, frowning to himself. “Yes. All right.”

#

The Kid, as Wade started thinking of Nate, really didn’t know anything. The weird cult he’d run away from must have literally been living under a rock. Nate had never had a hot dog before. Never seen Times Square. Looked startled when dragged aboard the subway, his gaze shifting slowly through the crowd. Never seen that many people before.

That was a common refrain. Nate couldn’t seem to get used to being in a crowd. Having people brush up against him would tense him up, have him jerk back, his fingers twitching at his hips. Thankfully, in New York, nobody seemed to give a damn about the huge-ass rifle slung against Nate’s back. The hell was with that, anyway? Was the cult Nate was from some sort of military, end-of-the-world messiah outfit? Hell, Wade had run into his share. 

At least the Huge Gun wasn’t for show. Wade tagged along on a mission just to check, then helped Nate find a cheap-ish shoebox apartment to rent without references. Because Wade was nice like that. Nice enough to maybe threaten Dopinder with a knife into talking his aunt’s cousin’s sister’s friend into overlooking a weird kid with a big gun. 

“Thanks,” Nate said as Wade flung himself onto the new apartment’s couch, putting up his feet on one of the armrests. “You’ve been very kind.” 

“Don’t mention it. Not like I was doing anything,” Wade said. Now that Nate brought it up, though, it didn’t sit right. Why _was_ Wade being so friendly to a kid he didn’t know from Adam? Wannabe merc kids popped up at the bar now and then and usually didn’t last all that long. Suited Wade that way, too. He wasn’t much into mentoring the newer generation or whatever funny ideas Dopinder tended to come up with now and then. New mercs meant new competition. If they got themselves killed, that meant less competition. 

Kid had good aim though. Hell—nice scent too, though his musk was weirdly metallic, like the bumper of an old car left out in the sun. Something didn’t sit quite right about Nate even with the cult story, and it wasn’t the way the kid had never seen a hotdog before. The wrongness stuck into Wade’s brain like a hungry tick. It was hard to concentrate enough to unpick the problem, though. Being near Nate like this was oddly soothing. 

“‘Sides, you’re nice,” Wade said absently, as he scratched under his mask, thinking it through. “Like expired weed butter cookies.”

“Sorry, what?” Nate said, blinking. 

“My roommate Al once left this stash of weed butter in the ‘fridge for a year past its expiry date, but we made batter with it anyway because why the hell not, and then I ate most of the cookies once they came out of the oven.” The high had hit Wade sideways like a jackhammer, even through his enhanced regeneration. Made him mellow as fuck. Similar to what he felt now around Nate. 

Weird.

More than weird. Wade sat bolt upright, so abruptly that Nate tensed up and swept a room with an alert, combat-trained stare. He straightened up as Wade stalked over to him but didn’t give ground, watching with growing curiosity as Wade circled him. “Wade?” Nate asked. 

“Something is weird about you,” Wade said, “and it isn’t the fact that you’ve never drunk coke before. I mean, sure, holistic murder cult maybe banned soft drinks, cruel and unusual but I get it, but. It’s something else? I don’t see it.” 

Nate gave Wade a long, confused look. “You don’t?” 

“Surely whoever’s been writing your dialogue for the last ten minutes could inject a few more words into your vocabulary. Or is your Character Plot Twist the fact that you’re an ASI Siri from the future? Could that be a thing? I mean, Marvel’s already doing its sitcom-with-an-android thing this season, and this doesn’t look like a sitcom, so maybe it’s a thriller? A horror-thriller? Is a clown going to come out from under your bathroom sink?” That would be cool. 

Nate had a funny way of adjusting to Wade’s tendency to word-salad his brain all over the place. Instead of ignoring him, like Al would, or diligently trying to find a thread of logic, like Dopinder, Nate would stare at Wade for a long moment and then say something that indicated that he’d somehow understood. “I… Wade, isn’t it obvious? I noticed it the moment you walked into Sister Margaret’s. Or is that no longer a thing in this ti—in this city?” 

“A thing? What thing? My thing?” Out of habit, Wade peeked southward. Nope. Wade’s Thing still looked intact below his belt. Maybe more bored than usual, because Wade hadn’t managed to get laid ever since he’d decided to put his trust in dodgy af unregulated cancer cures by terrorist organisations, what with getting into fights with most alphas and scaring off everyone else. May that be a lesson and all that.

“Compatibility? Isn’t that also why you’re trying to help me?” Nate said. When Wade stared at him blankly, Nate tried again, “I don’t know about now, but where I come from, highly compatible alphas and omegas start exuding new pheromones when they meet, pheromones that act as a naturally harmonising agen—Wade. Wade, wait!” 

Nope. No waiting. Admittedly, yeeting himself out of the window out of sheer panic wasn’t the best of ideas because this was one of Wade’s last intact costumes, and the glass shred it something awful. As Wade sprinted off over the rooftops, he took in deep gulps of the city’s smoggy, farty, baked-rubbish scented air like he needed it to breathe. 

Fuck this nice guy shit. Wade should’ve known.

#

Whenever Wade wanted to think, he went to Coney Island. Nothing like being immersed in a dying neon try-hard funfair playground of monetised entertainment for self-reflection. He lay in a booth in the Ferris wheel, used a drawn pistol to warn off attendants/normies attempting to get in or extract him, and stared up at the plastic ceiling. It was a warm day, so the booth smelled vaguely of sweat and chip grease. Helped to focus the mind.

With his mask rolled up to his nose, Wade occasionally pushed fistfuls of sweet popcorn into his maw. “Can’t be right,” Wade muttered, scratching at his temple with his spare pistol. “Compatibility is a lie. Disney lie. Nobody in real life does the Disney Princess thing of meeting your soulmate across a garden full of talking animals and living happily ever fucking after.” Nobody in Disney even fucks! What even is with that? Circle of life, his ass. 

“Wade.” 

Ooh shit, now he was even hallucinating an alpha voice? Hell, Wade didn’t have the headspace for that between the yellow boxes and the white boxes and his love for Bea Arthur. Wade tried smacking at his forehead with the pistol, but other than a few muffled bonks and a brief headache, didn’t seem to fix the problem. 

“ _Wade_.” The door to the pod rattled. 

Wade looked up, then sat up sharply as he saw Nate patiently trying the door. He peeked out of the window, yelped, and scrambled over to yank open the pod door and haul Nate in. “The fuck are you thinking?” Wade snarled. “We’re several stories up, and you don’t have a healing factor!” 

Nate looked slightly embarrassed, even as he leaned over to push the door close with his foot. “I just wanted to talk.” 

“They let you get on the outside of the ride without freaking out?” Wade peered down suspiciously. No panic on the ground, no peanut gallery crowd. Huh. Either everyone down below was higher on sugar than Wade thought, or Coney Island attracted people who were more depressing than usual. 

“I didn’t want them to notice me.” Nate started to sit down beside Wade and changed his mind as Wade tensed, sitting opposite him instead. “Wade, I’m sorry if I startled you that day.” 

“Startled? You? Who’s startled? Me? Hah, like you could do something like that?” 

“The thing is,” Nate forged on, “I don’t know how this works either. I’ve never thought of it as a possibility, that I could… I thought, even if I ever did meet someone compatible, I’d never have the time. I’d never be able to take the risk.” Nate looked uneasily out of the window. “So. That’s what I wanted to say. I won’t be here for all that long. I’ve got something to fix, and once I do, I’ll be gone.” Gloved fingers pulled uneasily at each other. “I don’t belong here, though I thought I did. Wish I did.” 

“Going? Going where?” Wade demanded. Pitching from defensiveness to incredulity to disappointment so quickly was making him vaguely queasy. The three coney dogs with extra chilli he ate before getting on the wheel weren’t helping. 

“Somewhere I have to be. I’m not meant to be here, not for this long. There are… there are people waiting for me. Unfinished business, too.”

“Cult business?” Wade hazarded. As Nate stiffened, Wade exhaled. That fucking just figured. “Just so we know,” Wade said, “you’re not going off to go all Far Cry on their ass or whatever, right?” 

“No? I… no. The people who raised me did it for their own reasons, I see that. The people who use me are doing it because they’re desperate. It’s been nice being here. Living a life where nobody expects anything out of me, where every breath I take doesn’t feel like it might be my last. So. Thanks, Wade. For showing that to me.” 

“You’re going right now?” Wade said, disbelieving. “Right after quoting Sting?” 

“I what? No. Not right now. Soon, though. I’ll have enough credit—I mean money—to get what I need soon. And it’s all thanks to you.” Nate smiled unevenly, his fingers twisting together. “I’ve had a strange and ugly life so far, and you’re the best part of it. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave with you still mad at me.” 

Wade’s temper drained out of him in a rush, hopefully along with the artificial high of eating several Coney Island hotdogs all at once. He exhaled, kicked back, and crossed his legs on the bench. “I’m not mad at you,” Wade admitted. 

“I can’t easily tell where you’re concerned. I can’t read you.” 

“Mask probably makes that hard.”

“I meant. I’m a telepath,” Nate confessed. 

“What? Like the Prof? Wait, more like Not!Sansa?” Not!Sansa also had the TK and the glowy eyes on top of TP. 

Nate looked a little embarrassed. “Yes.” 

“Christ, I thought powers were one of a kind. Did the writers get lazy or what? Okay, kid. We done?”

“Are we?” 

“Just told you I’m not angry. That’s all you wanted, right?” Wade said, biting out the words. Hell, now he was starting to get a little angry. What the fuck kind of scenario was this? Like Nate was going off to the wars or whatever? Seriously, how was this Wade’s life? 

Nate cocked his head. He took in a slow breath and shifted over, squeezing up beside Wade on the bench. This close, Nate radiated heat through his coat, even as Wade shifted to open the gap between them by an inch. “Can we at least be friends? Before… before I have to go?” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Wade growled, pressing the flat of his gun over his eyes. The smell of gun oil and gunpowder helped, very slightly. “You know I’m gonna say yes because I’ve had three too many hotdogs, and then next you’d be asking for sex, and you’d probably roll high on that persuade too while I’ll fail my saving throw and—”

“What?” Nate’s voice pitched into a squeak, funny for a kid who looked like his balls had dropped early. 

“What do you mean, what?”

“Sex?” Nate looked so startled that Wade paused, then let out a harsh laugh and pulled down his mask. 

“Kidding,” Wade said, though he hadn’t been. Now that his brain finally jogged to a panting halt next to his mouth, though, who was Wade fooling? Pheromones and Disney weren’t worth jack when Wade looked like days’ old hamburger run over several times on a freeway. 

Nate didn’t seem to hear him. “I mean, I don’t see why you’d want to,” he muttered. “You keep calling me a kid, and besides.” He mumbled something incoherent. 

“How old are you again?” Wade asked, suspicious now. 

“Nearly twenty-one?”

“So you _weren’t_ of drinking age.” Also, still young enough that Wade was starting to feel a bit like a cradle-snatcher. But just a tiny bit, because his conscience was nearly as battered as days’ old hamburger left on a freeway. At the confused glance Nate shot him, Wade swallowed. “Ah, what’s the other thing you said?” When Nate’s ears reddened, Wade couldn’t help but tease. “Not into guys?” At Nate’s slow shake of his head, Wade chuckled. “Well, what is it then?” Erectile dysfunction? Could that even happen to kids? When Wade was Nate’s age, even a great chimichanga could get him hard.

Mm. Chimichangas.

“I, uh. I’ll show you.” Nate began peeling off his coat. That got Wade to sit up and fold his legs under him. Sudden stripping wasn’t usually a part of Wade’s plot repertoire unless it was for comedic effect, because his regular writers weren’t imaginative like that. Off went the coat, revealing a tight-fitting vest and one normal-looking, muscular arm. The other was the fanciest prosthetic Wade had ever seen, and he’d done his share of underground black market modded fight clubs for the luls. 

“Damn.” Wade prodded the corded cabling on the arm. So that’s what smelled of warm steel. “That’s the most… _metal_ thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“It’s not metal; it’s a virus,” Nate said.

“I didn’t mean it in the material—well, maybe I did too, but not really. I meant like, Black Sabbath metal. Like… Never mind, you kids are probably into kpop or whatever it is you like nowadays.” Wade ran his fingertips down the flex of the steel arm. “Whoo. Where’d you get this made?” 

“It’s an infection. I’ll show you.” Nate undid the clasps on the vest, pulling it loose. Gawking, Wade leaned in. The seam between steel and flesh stitched unevenly over Nate’s arm and chest, reaching for his neck. Looked a little like his skin and flesh was melting off, revealing the steel beneath. 

“Da- _yum_ ,” Wade breathed, taking it in. “Now I’m fucking jealous.” At Nate’s incredulous stare, Wade’s hand went to the base of his mask. He hesitated for a second, then grit his teeth and yanked it off.

Nate looked his face over, surprised—but instead of revulsion, his brow knit in anger. “Who did that to you?” he asked in a low, soft voice. 

“In a way, I did it to myself, but. Yeah. Bit of a mess up on all sides,” Wade conceded, then couldn’t help but prod the wound. “Gross, huh?”

“Does it hurt?” 

“Nah.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Good? Wait. Does. Does your metal whatever virus thing hurt?” Wade’s chest clenched up in a squishy way at the thought, squishy like a melting butterstick on a hot brick. Ugh. Fuck pheromones. 

“Not exactly. Not like you’d think. I’m afraid, though. If it spreads higher, if it eats my mind…” Nate shivered. “That’s what I mean. I thought once you found out, you wouldn’t want to. I’m still looking for the cure.”

“That’s why you gotta go?” Wade guessed. At Nate’s slow, uncomfortable nod, Wade patted Nate on the back. “Well. I hope you find it, kid.” 

“Thanks.” 

“But I don’t see the problem,” Wade said, peering closer. “This thing looks _rad_. Wait. Did it. Eat your thing? Your Little Nate? Your meat and/or veg?” 

“It’s an incurable disease that’d eventually consume my sanity and you don’t see the problem?” Nate said, though he started to laugh. He relaxed as he did, leaning back against the hull, and damn. Kid really was kinda cute. Probably noticed that Wade was noticing, too, because when he laughed himself out, Nate glanced up, blushed, and scooted closer, leaning in. 

“Pheromones sure did a real number on you,” Wade murmured, though he let the kiss come, clumsy as it was. Kissing Nate against the creaking side of the pod until the kid whined and clawed at Wade’s shoulders, shivering. Wade squirmed, already growing wet, with his alpha pressed so close and so desperate and yeah. He was so fucked. 

“Wade,” Nate whispered. “Could I ask you for one selfish thing?” 

“What?” Wade asked, mouthing along Nate’s jaw. 

“I’ll find a way to come back to you, so. Wait for me, all right?” 

Wade drew back with a frown. “When you meant you were going to leave soon, how soon did you mean?” 

“Right after we get to the ground,” Nate said, his eyes warm and apologetic. He looked away, blinking hard. 

“Hey,” Wade said gently. He ruffled Nate’s hair because hell, Wade knew this was going to happen. Universe loved fucking with him. “You just do what you got to do. Don’t worry about me.” 

When Nate left, Wade lay back down in the pod, stomach knotting. He’d do one more revolution on the goddamned wheel. Then it’d be time to get back to work.

#

The year went by in a crawl, marked by the occasional burst of murder and mayhem. Then it got batshit crazy all at once, what with Wade running into a random pyro kid, getting arrested and shoved into a mutant detention centre, and then, what even the fuck, running into Nate again. Except that it wasn’t Nate. Not the cute, earnest kid Wade remembered, anyway. This version of Nate was decades older, scarred and grim-faced and silver-haired. The virus had progressed up his throat, but other than that, hadn’t looked all too bad. He’d also broken at least half of Wade’s ribs in retaliation when Wade had jumped on him, only to jerk back with a shocked gasp of, “ _Wade_?” when Wade was snarling and trying to get up from the table.

“What even the fuck,” Wade said, spitting blood as he looked the new Nate over. “Nate? How did you get even more Metallica then you already were?” 

“I, well…” Nate lowered his gun, looking lost. The same look he’d worn when Wade had last seen him, a year and forever away on the back of a Ferris wheel. Shouts and the heavy tread of booted feet hardened his gaze. He brought up an orange shield, stopping bullets in mid-air, striding over to pick Wade up. 

“ _Not_ the bridal carry,” Wade growled, shoving at Nate’s face as Nate broke into a run, but Nate ignored him in place of busting out of the detention centre. Dragged him all the way in a stolen car back to a ratty little motel off a highway. 

Once within the room, Nate gestured at the suppression collar, and it came off. Wade wheezed, staggering back as his healing factor kicked back into gear, then yelped as Nate hugged Wade tightly, making a low, choked sound of relief. “Wade, my Gods, Wade. You’re alive. Still alive. This might just work.” 

“It’s only been a year, man,” Wade said, warily patting Nate’s shoulder as Nate let out a low, heaving gasp. “Hey. Chill out. Did you get hit by an ageing plot device, or? I mean, Marvel does the de-aging thing alot, especially when they want to reuse fan-favourite characters like Magneto, but I didn’t think they did the other thing.”

“Ageing? Oh. I. Wade, I’m now fifty years old,” Nate said, drawing back but still holding Wade in his arms. “I tried to come back, but. Sentinels attacked the base and destroyed the prototype Graymalkin. Things got… messy for a while. Then I found you again.”

“Pretty sure I’d have noticed that,” Wade said, with a frown. “Oh. I see now. This is a story with one of those jackass time-travel plot devices, what even the fuck, even though you technically have to move faster than the speed of light to even maybe make something like that possible, not to mention it pockmarks canon into a Swiss Cheezit. Okay. You ran into future me? Uh. Lived happily ever after until another plot device? Did you cure yourself of the virus thing?” 

Nate’s expression darkened. “Not yet, but that doesn’t matter to me anymore. I found you, and. We lived together for a while, but then my enemies found out. You were burned to death, to a point where not even your healing factor could keep up. By one of the Hellfire Kings, a man called Firefist. I’ve come back in time to kill him.” 

“Okay, first,” Wade said, goggling, “I seriously get killed by the _Hellfire Kings_? Those people are just one sack of cats away from a total flaming dumpster fire, and they managed to take me out? That’s some depressing af fridging right there. Secondly, don’t you think you maybe got your math wrong? Came back a few decades too early? You wouldn’t have met future me yet for a long time.” 

“Firefist hasn’t yet earned his moniker or his Hellfire crown,” Nate said, his lip curling. “As he is now, he’s still a child. An easy kill.”

Wade pinched the bridge of his nose. “O-kay. And people think _I_ need drugs and therapy. No. Bad Nate. This is Marvel, not a seinen manga. We do not murder kids for funsies. It’s not even cool as an edgy thing, though, speaking of that, d’you know much it pisses me off that almost every superhero film has to be dark and edgy as fark now? Can’t we all be like Thor: Ragnarok and Black Panther and Wonder Woman?” At the blank look in Nate’s eyes, Wade patted his shoulder. “S’alright. I’ve watched every episode of Golden Girls and read a shit ton of Harlequin Romances and Cosmopolitan and all that. I totally know what we have to do next.” He grinned. 

“What’s that now?” Nate asked, though he seemed more amused than murderous. 

“Pretty sure this is the point where I do the Good Omega thing and fuck some consequences into my alpha.” Wade paused. “No, that sounded way less like a reference to an STD in my brain. _Conscience_. Conscience. That’s the word.” 

“You—” Nate started to laugh. It began as a surprised series of huffs that bled into a deep, helpless rumbling laugh. Tears sprang to his eyes as he squeezed them shut and hugged Wade tightly to him, burying his mouth against Wade’s throat. 

At that point, why the hell not? Wade was committed now anyway. He shoved Nate down on the bed, which creaked alarmingly under his weight. Before Wade could ask, Nate hauled him down, stripping off the orange prison jumpsuit with impatient jerks. Wade nearly voiced some protest before remembering. There wasn’t anything about him that Nate wouldn’t have already seen. Or would see. Fuck. Wade seriously hated time-travel plot devices. 

Hoping to distract his brain and/or a time paradox, Wade went to work on Nate’s clothes. Too many buckles, too many weird-looking weapons and devices. Under the gear, Nate was hella built. Way more than he’d been as a rangy, still-growing kid, anyway. Wade whistled, running his palms over all the packed muscle, looking back up into Nate’s fond and lopsided smile. 

Damn. This was nowhere as weird as it should be. 

“I could…” Nate trailed his hands down Wade’s hips to his thighs, but Wade brought the big palms back up to his waist.

“Nope. No time for that. We’re not looking to live out a novel here.” Wade spat on his palm, not that he needed it. With Nate laid out like a feast before him, with their pheromones mingling so thickly, Wade was already wetter than he could remember ever being, his cock leaking against his leg. He grasped Nate’s nice, big alpha dick and gave it a couple of tugs, grinning as Nate growled and thrust into his grip. 

Yeah, okay. Maybe this would be more fun than Wade thought. He arched as he sat on Nate’s cock, groaning and making a show of it, the way he had years ago before his screwups, when he had scores of admirers willing to overlook his motormouth for a fuck. Feeling Nate stretch him out nearly to the point of pain tore Wade’s breaths into shallow gasps, making him brace against the bed as he screwed himself down, _fuck_ , all the way until he’d taken in even the thickest part of Nate, the part that’d eventually get even thicker. If he let Nate get that lucky. 

A red flush climbed up Nate’s throat from his shoulders to his cheeks. He sat up and hauled Wade over for a desperate kiss, licking into his mouth, urgency making him clumsy this time. His hands swept feverishly up Wade’s back as though trying to assure himself that Wade was still there. For a moment, Wade sort of even felt a little bit jelly of his future self. How many years did he have with Nate before getting extra toasted? Did they make each other happy, or did Wade shit the bed now and then, maybe literally? Was there something more to Nate’s grief and guilt that Wade had no context to read? 

“I wasted so much time,” Nate whispered, as though he’d heard. “Got caught up in my work, when I should’ve just spent it all with you.” 

“Like you would’ve done something like that even if you knew,” Wade said, the words coming to his tongue before he could even think. Nate shuddered but said nothing, mouthing against Wade’s jaw.

They were close to full sync, now, their breaths matching each other’s cadences. Closing his eyes, breathing deep, Wade began to move. Slow and easy, since it was what they both needed for different reasons. Kissing Nate as Nate groaned protests and half-coherent apologies, referring to things Wade didn’t yet know and hopefully never would. 

Birthdays missed, anniversaries celebrated from halfway across the world. Wade kissed Nate harder before Nate could get to whispered promises, things that Nate probably wouldn’t be able to keep. Time and Marvel didn’t work that way. Moving together, listening to each other breathe. Nate worked fingers between them, stroking Wade between his thighs, tugging at his cock. Going still with a low gasp as Wade seized up with a yowl, watching Wade greedily until Wade slumped down with a groan of satiation. Only then did Nate shift Wade gently onto Wade’s back, lifting his thighs to drive into him, gasping an apology that Wade waved away as Nate went still, his hips twitching.

#

“So when do you have to go back?” Wade asked, one week after he mediated the No More Child Murder agreement, because he was awesome.

Nate froze in the middle of making dinner while vacuuming the flat, because Nate, of all people, reverted to domesticity as a default coping mechanism for reality. “Did you want me to?” he asked carefully, as the vacuum switched off.

“Won’t it mess with the timeline or something? Or. Wait, does that even still work? Now that Captain America has seriously messed with the timeline by going back in time to save the future and then staying back in time?”

Nate puzzled this over. He shook his head. “I don’t have to, no. Hopefully, not ever. That is, if you’d like to have me stay.”

“You cook, do the housework, and earn your way, so why not?” Wade stretched out over the couch, only to have to scoot over as Nate chuckled and walked over, sitting down on the edge with a fond smile playing on his lips. “You trying to use TK to make dinner never works,” Wade reminded him.

“It can keep,” Nate whispered, and leaned down for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> prompt policy, writing, art, original stuff: manicintent.carrd.co


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